


Barnes & Noble

by Imbroglio



Category: Doctor Who, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:28:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imbroglio/pseuds/Imbroglio





	Barnes & Noble

     The soldier looks up in mild surprise as a red-headed woman sinks onto the bench beside him. He waits expectantly—something about the woman elicits a twinge of recognition, enough to make him think this must be the contact. But she does not offer any passwords or trigger, only leans back and closes her eyes with a deep sigh.

     After a moment she opens them, looks at him. “Is it always this hot?”

     These are not the words he is waiting for; no response leaps to mind and because the programming does not provide for this situation _(did not expect?)_ he must form the response on his own. It is hot, he realizes, but is this the normal temperature for the area at this time of year? He does not know; the information was not deemed necessary for completion of mission; the woman must be either neutral or antagonist.

     “Yes,” he answers, because no response would cause notice, and the woman speaks with a British accent so likely has no more idea than him whether the temperature is normal or not.

     She is of average height, in her late 30s or early 40s, no visible weapons and no evidence of concealed. Her hair is red _(like fall leaves and_ _pale skin)._ Narrow face. Physically unimposing, but—the red hair.

     He ignores the vague, nagging insistence that he focus on her hair. She is no match for him physically, so she is unlikely to be a threat. But he remains guarded.

     “It’s miserable,” she says, wiping sweat from her face. “How do you stand it? It’s like the gates of hell opening, or falling—“ she pauses, frowning slightly. “Falling into something very hot,” she finishes, sounding confused.

     Her face relaxes into a frown, lines around her mouth. She looks tired. She looks like she’ s lost something.

     “Thought the world was ending,” she says suddenly. “Right after I got here, saw on the weather that it was supposed to be 90°. I’m used to Celsius, you know, thought we were crashing into the sun or something. Or aliens.” She laughs. “Haven’t seen any of those yet. I’m always somewhere else; never know the world’s about to end until it hasn’t.”

     He sits relaxed, his hands in his pocket so that she doesn’t see the gloves and question him about them. But how long is this woman going to sit there talking? She needs to go. She isn’t the plan and if he gets rid of her here, someone will see.

     “Where are you from?” he asks. No, that’s not right. He needs to end the conversation. He needs to make her go away.

     “London,” she answers. “The main extraterrestrial landing port, it seems. But you get them here, too, don’t you?”

     He accesses news he’s seen, articles and brief sound bites they give him to orient him. “Sometimes. Mostly in New York.” He feels something—he doesn’t know what. Discomfort? Aliens in New York causes discomfort. He has never been to New York _(he doesn’t remember being there)._

     “See, there’s what I don’t get,” the woman says. “You’ve got all these superheroes in New York these days—makes sense, doesn’t it? Them coming where there’s people to stop them. That’s just how things should be. But we haven’t got that in London; superheroes don’t seem to be cropping up back home. So the aliens just show up, hover all ominous for a bit, and then off they go again.”

     A tall blonde man in a dark blue shirt goes past, walking a dog. The soldier watches him. There’s something about him that clicks with the soldier. That could have been the contact, passing silent because the red-hair woman is still talking.

     “My mum didn’t want me to come, you know? Said it was too dangerous, I could save my money for a holiday this Christmas when everyone’s leaving town. But I wanted to go. Thought I might—“

     He waits. “Might what?” he asks when it’s clear she is not going to continue. The information seems important. Maybe this is part of his mission. Maybe that’s why her red hair and sad— _(lost)_ —eyes seem so important. _(Familiar)._

     “Sorry,” she says with a shake of her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Monologuing to a stranger like this. It’s probably just jet lag.”

     “Might what?” he says again insistently.

     She looks at him thoughtfully. “Do you ever feel like you’re missing something?”

    “I—“ _(all the time)_ —“don’t know what you mean.”

     “Like you hear a word, or see a suit, or a certain shade of blue, and it’s like you’re about to remember something—important, you know? Like déjà vu, but all the time.”

     Blue eyes.

     Brief flashes of red.

     “Yes,” he says. And waits for them to come get him, pull him back from the blank spots he shouldn’t be trying to get close to.

     “I’m getting married next spring. Mum’s all excited, and I should be too. But it’s like—I’ve done it before, yeah? Even though I’ve never even been engaged. And I guess—I saw you waiting for the bus, and you looked like you’d know what I mean.” She shrugs, laughs shortly. “You probably think I’m crazy.”

     Certain shades of blue.

     “Oh, there’s my bus.” She stands, leaving him alone as before. But before she boards, she turns back and holds out her hand. “My name’s Donna.”

     He stares at it, then slowly pulls out the hand that is skin-and-bone under the glove, sets it in hers. “James,” he says. He doesn’t know where the name came from. The one they’ve given him for this mission?

     “Thanks for listening, James,” she says, and before he can process the experience of hearing the name _(his name)_ from her mouth, she boards. In a flash of red hair and a grinding of gears, she is gone.

     It is the last thing he holds, after the mission is over and they come for him, and the chair again, pressure closing down over his eyes. Red hair. Shades of blue.

Then, nothing.

    

 


End file.
